Author's Note (Tyramir): To answer a question put forth by Jaysinya; Zemus is the correct name of the villain of FFIV. However, at the very end, he changes into Zeromus, the absolute embodiment of oblivion (as per the norm in a lot of FF games). So, during the course of their adventures, Cecil, Kain and company battled against Zemus' schemes, but they ultimately defeated Zeromus. Hope that clears things up a bit.
Chapter Two
A Meeting
Silence. Darkness stretched across the landscape, blanketing everything in a cloud of obscurity, the stars peeking through the low cloud cover that smothered the sky. The hills, themselves covered in long grass, were uncaring as to what happened on them, as what were the conflicts and problems of humanity to the earth? Humans were like grains of sand on a beach; unrecognisable from one another, and gone once the tide washed them away. And so in this manner, the hills were uncaring as to the nature of the events unfolding on a small patch of land nestled against a steep cliff face of rock jutting from one of the formations of dirt.
However, this was not true of a certain patch of grass, a good distance from said area of the landscape. This mound of flora was very aware of the events which were about to unfold, and in fact were focussed completely on them. The grass rustled as if self aware; of course, the grass was not aware, but the figure the grass was attached to was very much so. A long, metallic object lay nestled against the figure, aiming towards the land they were so focussed on. A sniper rifle.
Three figures walked out of the small cabin, magnified through the scope of the rifle. Two figures wore masks, probably old Galbadian issue. The other msn's breath clouded on the freezing night, chuckling silently at something or another. The figure holding the rifle snorted softly, his own breath fogging slightly from under the grass.
"Laugh away. I've got you right in my sights," he whispered as the crosshairs of the scope drifted over the man's heart. The three had now descended into animated conversation, one of the mask wearing figure's arms flailing wildly through some kind of disagreement.
"Good job you're not that emotionally articulate, I might have a problem telling you too apart with those stupid masks you're wearing."
The three had calmed somewhat and the calmer figure was obviously leading the discussion, his hands moving up and down gently as he must have been speaking. The man without a mask gazed at him intently, while the other seemed disgusted with what was being said; hands on hips, posture defiant. The scope swung to the right slightly.
"Ooo, more punters join the party. If you're not careful you might actually need me. Isn't that weird…you, needing, me."
Back on the three original men, the calmer mask wearer shot a look directly into the scopes sight, looking almost aggravated. The other two watched as ten or twelve men climbed out of the two vehicles that had just pulled into the small compound. A small table had been erected, and one of the men was carrying a briefcase to it.
"So like, what's the deal with this stuff, anyway?"
The calmer man gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and walked to join the other two standing around the table. The crosshairs drifted to hovering over the maskless man's heart as the group of new arrivals horded around the briefcase carrier.
The calmer man started another conversation with the man who was obviously running business, and who lay on the crosshairs of the sniper rifle. He looked very serious, and very boring as he explained something that was obviously very important to the men gathered around the fold out table, but was equally obviously boring to the sniper.
"Come on, let's hurry this up. I'm freezing my ass off out here."
Another minute display of emotion, this time exasperation; however he covered it well by stepping forward and gesturing to the briefcase carrier. He looked at the leader of the meeting who nodded, and the briefcase was duly set on the dull surface. After a moment the calm man gestured again, and with some reluctance and a moments hesitation spoke to the man at the table. The briefcase snapped open.
"Doesn't look like much from here," muttered the sniper, and this sentiment was obviously shared between the participants of the meeting. The maskless man nodded to the briefcase handler, who took out of the briefcase a very small, very shiny, very green stone. He walked a short distance from the others and then turned back to face them.
"Watch yourself, Squall," warned the sniper just as the man holding the stone moved quickly. The crosshairs flashed across the compound to make their mark but the man had already made his move. A heavy looking object had been thrown into the air, and the man holding the stone had pointed said object towards it; the object exploded in a burst of fire, scattering dust across the compound.
"Woah," whispered the sniper, a reverence shared by the group of people in the compound. They watched the dust settle for a moment, and then the man in charge started talking again, looking very pleased with himself.
"Okay, Squall," said the sniper, tightening his grip on the trigger of the rifle. "Just let me know when you want me to make my…"
He stopped talking as a small, hard, metallic object pressed into the back of his skull.
"…Shit."
In the compound, within his mask, Squall closed his eyes and sighed inwardly. If Irvine had just shut up for two minutes…Not that that was any indication of success. He might've gotten performance anxiety again. Russo, the maskless man, was talking to the assembly.
"…Ten million gil."
The other man, who had insisted on remaining anonymous, made a disgusted sound at the price of this stone, but Squall recognised it as a gross misvalue of the item in the briefcase.
A stone that could make magic possible for everyone outside the minority of one that was the Sorceress without having to draw it from a monster. Such an item was beyond any price, especially a paltry ten million.
He observed Russo closely, watching for any indication of deceit, but could see none. Either he was so stupid he couldn't recognise the stone for the priceless item it was, or he had set that price because he knew who he was dealing with; petty thugs like the anonymous man standing opposite Squall.
This operation was very dangerous and very illegal; no-one outside a select few even knew what he and Irvine were doing, let alone where they were, so if anything went wrong they were truly on their own.
"Ten million? This is worth three million, being generous."
Squall rolled his eyes. How did people like him achieve any level of responsibility in the world?
"My friend," said Russo. "This item is worth far more than that; in fact, I would go so far as to say it was priceless. However, all I want to do is rid myself of it before people who want it a lot more than you do come looking for it, and all I want is the money to live out the rest of my life, safe from those people. This meeting is so remote that unless you go waving it about everywhere, it'll be untraceable. We will have never seen this stone," he said with great emphasis. "So what I'm saying is…ten million, or just leave and save ours and your time."
He stared at Russo for a few minutes, then nodded minutely. Russo turned to Squall.
"What about you, happy with the price?"
Squall shrugged and then nodded.
"Good. Obviously we only have one stone and two interested buyers, so what I suggest is we either enter into an auction or you find another means of disposing of the competition."
Squall immediately caught a glance from the other masked man. This was the part where he attacked Squall, but got shot down by Irvine. With the knowledge a sniper was watching over them, everyone would calm down considerably and get on with the bidding. However, Irvine was currently predisposed and Squall didn't have time to think of a plan B.
"So?" asked the other man. Squall was surprised; he was being given an option about it. He considered his response carefully.
"I think…"
"Wrong!" exclaimed the other, producing a pistol and pointing it to Squall's head. Great, a comedian.
"Any last words?"
Purely on instinct, he told the other man exactly what he would be doing if their roles were reversed.
"Why are you pointing the gun at me, when you could shoot Russo and take the stone for nothing?"
A full three seconds passed before the pistol swept across to the auctioneer, who had taken the time to remove himself from the field of play. Squall threw himself to the ground as the two armed firing squads – one for Russo, and one for the masked man – faced each other, bringing their weapons to bear.
Weapons fire exploded around Squall, who involuntarily rolled into a ball to protect himself from the bullets tearing the ground and the building he lay next to to shreds. There was a sudden moment of silence, and he wondered if it was all over.
"Russo!" called the masked man from the other side of the compound. There was no reply but a short burst of gunfire. Squall propped himself against the wall after quickly scanning himself for injury, finding none, and swiftly prodded his head around the corner to assess the area for risks.
A split second after he withdrew his head, the ground next to his foot exploded with a force that could only have been caused by a sniper rifle. His first thought was that Irvine had somehow gone insane, or gotten the jitters again (both equally credible possibilities when related to Irvine), however with a quick assessment the trajectory of the bullet meant that either Irvine had very quickly moved to the other side of the compound or there was another sniper up in the darkness; the second being the most probable likelihood.
More shots cracked from the hills, no doubt felling a number of either contingent. Squall lay onto his stomach and leopard-crawled to the other side of the building, hoping to cut off Russo, and also hoping he was still in possession of the powerful stone. Waiting for another shot from the hills to sound he then catapulted forward to the cover of the next structure, closing in on Russo and his team. He turned the corner and came face to face with the man, who was trying to sneak from the area using the same route Squall had taken to sneak in.
Squall immediately slammed Russo against the wall. "Where is it?" he snarled.
Russo drew in a breath to reply, but the sniper fired off another shot – Russo collapsed to the ground as Squall leapt back subconsciously. He ran back around the corner, gaining precious cover from the sniper. He peeked through a gap in the decrepit wall and saw the briefcase lying opened next to the displaced table. The masked man had taken cover behind one of the vehicles and was clearly very seriously considering making a run for the stone. Silence descended upon the compound once again, the last of the sniper and gun fire echoing into the distance.
The masked man regarded his surroundings, then called, "Squall! I know you're still here – you're too stubborn to die in a petty skirmish like this! What say you come out and we can discuss this peaceably!"
Squall decided that there was little chance of that happening, but needed that stone badly. He felt a sudden rush of anger towards the political trouble which had forced him to come here accompanied only by Irvine rather than the entire military population of the Garden. If it had been up to him, the stone would have been halfway back to Balamb by now, being preliminarily analysed as they went. But, with the "sensitive nature" of the mysterious stone, the fewer people who knew about it the better, apparently. And by extension, the greater the risk to his life.
"Alright!" he called out.
"Don't do anything stupid, Squall."
Squall raised his hands above his head and stepped out into the compound. "Okay. You can just leave with the stone. I don't care what you do with it."
He kneeled slightly taller against the vehicle. "I know you're one of the ones who were following our host for the evening!"
Squall sighed, forgetting about the less than mediocre intelligence of his counterpart, as if he was worthy of that title.
"Why would I be? You were the one who drew your weapon, and for all I know that's your sniper up on the hill." He knew it wasn't, judging by the way the man was acting, but it suggested it wasn't his sniper either, and so made him more sympathetic to the other guy.
He seemed to consider this, then gestured. "Come on."
Squall faltered slightly, then started forward, expecting some kind of action against him.
There was an action, but it was more wide spread than simply affecting him.
One of the armoured vehicles exploded in a massive fireball.
Squall retreated to the cover of his wall, while the masked man's retinue vaporised. The nameless man was strewn in the centre of the compound when Squall checked from his cover. After a brief moment he was on his feet, ready to race for cover.
A bullet erupted in his path.
He turned to run to Squall's broken building, but another bullet stopped him. Every direction he turned, the sniper stopped him. Squall's lip turned in distaste. This man wasn't being killed.
He was being toyed with.
Eventually the man without a name stopped in the centre of the compound, turning to face the approximate location of the sniper. A last act of defiance.
The tension was palpable. Squall hated the sniper because of what he had done. This was purely a malicious killing. Death was a fact of Squall's line of work, but no-one deserved a drawn out killing like this. This had turned into an execution.
The sniper finally fired, the shot echoing off the hills. Squall jumped and ducked back behind the wall on reflex as it happened, the event had been built up so much.
Another shot ricocheted around the dimness beyond the lit compound. Squall came to the realisation of what had happened a split second before he received confirmation.
"The sniper's down," came Irvine's voice from the small speaker in his ear. All of the camaraderie from earlier on had left his voice.
Squall looked out from his cover. The nameless man was no longer standing in the courtyard…but his body wasn't lying on the floor like Squall expected. Senses on fire, he leopard-crawled forward slightly, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
Irvine bounded down the closest hill after a few moments observation, deciding the compound was finally secure.
Secure was a relative term; the first vehicle still billowed smoke and the fire would rage for hours. The sniper must have fired on the vehicles fuel tank.
Irvine nodded to Squall, who returned the gesture. Then, he lifted the helmet over his head and breathed the country air which was only slightly tainted with the acrid smoke. He looked up at the sniper.
"Let's see what all this fuss was about."
They paced to the briefcase which lay discarded on the ground. Irvine leant down to pick it up.
Some movement, some slight signal of danger alerted Squall to shout a warning to Irvine, whose reflexes, being a sniper, were so finely tuned he could instantly roll out of the way with the case. That was the only thing that saved Irvine from being the sniper's next victim.
Irvine launched the briefcase across the gap between the shell of the truck and the low wall Squall crouched behind, and brought his rifle to survey the hills as Squall caught the case.
Then began a deadly waiting game between the two snipers. If the sniper on the hill fired, Irvine would be able to pinpoint the position, and given enough time the sniper on the hill could find Irvine in his new hiding place, although he was well camouflaged against the truck.
After what seemed an eternity, Irvine waved Squall forward. While Squall doubted Irvine at times, he trusted him enough to vouch it was safe, and besides – he was ready for this assignment to end.
He ran forward onto the hill, to where he thought the sniper was located. He heard Irvine scramble up after him. A few adrenaline pumped moments later, he arrived at a discarded sniper rifle.
He threw a questioning glance at Irvine, who sickeningly nodded to an area just behind Squall. When he looked, he saw the sniper.
The sniper, who had almost been torn apart.
Irvine stood, shocked at the brutality of the murder before him. Squall noted how even in these warlike conditions, if a killing was brutal enough it became murder; while in the civilian world even accidental death was enough to convict someone for several years.
More collected than Irvine, he stooped to examine the ravaged corpse of the sniper.
"You shot him in the arm?"
He had to turn around to see Irvine's mute nod.
"I've never seen anything like this," Squall continued, scrutinizing the devastated body. "It looks bad, but…there are only four wounds I can make out. Plus the bullet wound."
"Four?" asked Irvine, incredulously. Squall had already phased out his surroundings in his examination.
Four wounds, each peculiar in its own way. One gushed blood even though the body had been dead far long enough to be completely drained of blood at the rate it was leaving the body. In a startling contrast, another was completely devoid of blood; not a drop exited the wound. The third gash had impaled the sniper through his shoulder; however his entire arm, on further inspection had completely shattered. It was like something had pulverised the bone from the man's shoulder, travelling further down the arm; but Squall could find no evidence of this, just the stab wound.
The fourth wound was most peculiar in that it wasn't strange at all. However, Squall was struck with the impression that that gave this wound the most emphasis; and the more he thought about it, the more he had the impression that this wound had been the most deadly. The other three were agonisingly painful and they certainly would have heard the sniper screaming in pain for at least a minute before he'd passed out from blood loss or shock. But there had been total silence between the time they'd been fired upon and their ascent up the hill. It was entirely possible that this wound could have been the one to kill the sniper instantly…but the man's neck and spine were intact, and Squall wouldn't ordinarily have said it was a fatal injury.
He realised he had been analysing the body of the broken man for too long; they were exposed here. He stood and started walking down the hill.
"Come on, we need to go."
Irvine nodded dumbly, rifle held loosely by his waist. "What did this?"
Squall looked back. "Nothing human." He regarded the grisly scene for a second more before he turned back to Irvine. "We have four mysteries now"
"Four? Why that number again?" said Irvine, visibly blanching from the thought of the corpse behind them. "I only count two – what's that stone, and who killed that guy?"
"There are two more – who wanted the stone from Russo so badly that he'd risk this, and who was the second bidder?"
"Like, why's that important?"
Squall huffed at himself, annoyed he hadn't picked up on it earlier. "Because he knew my name, and this was all supposed to be anonymous."
"Woah…"
They continued walking in silence for a few more moments.
"We need to get back to the Garden."
"Hey hey hey…we can't go back if the other guy knew who you were, that'll be where they're waiting for you."
"We can't stay here," retorted Squall.
"Well, yeah, but we can't go anywhere someone would be looking for you."
Squall sighed. As much as he hated it, Irvine was right. Where was the last place anyone who was surveilling him think to look? He hated to think of where he'd end up if Irvine had any say in the matter but he wouldn't be able to think of a location on his own.
"Come on, we'll think as we go."
Irvine nodded an affirmative and headed to retrieve the briefcase from where Squall had stashed it on his mad scramble up the hill. "Wouldn't want to forget this."
Squall clambered into the remaining truck as Irvine trotted to the passenger door. The vehicle rumbled to life after Squall tweaked some wires beneath the wheel. Soon, the truck had vanished into the night, leaving the massacre behind it.